


There Are Worse Ways To Go

by mahoni



Category: Supernatural, The X-Files
Genre: 1000-5000 Words, Crossover/Fusion, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-25
Updated: 2007-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 07:45:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mahoni/pseuds/mahoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This vision didn't, by any chance, involve autoerotic asphyxiation, did it?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Are Worse Ways To Go

**Author's Note:**

> Set in late season 1 of _Supernatural_ &amp; early season 4 of _The X-Files_, and thus AU.

Dean generally only told the authorities the truth as a last resort. For example, when it looked like they had no choice but to either come off as misguided but harmless crazy people or be tossed in the slammer, he'd rattle off a few completely honest details about their current job and hope for the best. Occasionally the result was some version of 'you trying to fuck with me, punk?' and a trip to booking anyway. If they were lucky, though, they'd get a dire warning to take their bullshit elsewhere and possibly a police escort out of town, and then they could get back to work.

Things went a little off the rails this time around, though. This time, the authority figure in question responded to the truth by dragging a kitchen chair into the living room, getting comfortable, and saying, "Okay. I'm listening."

Dean eyed the guy suspiciously. "Are you sure you're FBI?"

It was a rhetorical question, since they knew from their research that Fox Mulder was in fact FBI, but Mulder's reaction implied he'd maybe gotten that question before. Frequently. He smiled calmly and said, "It's…kind of complicated. But yes, FBI." He dug into the pocket of his jacket and tossed a folded ID wallet to Dean and then turned his attention to Sam.

"Precognitive visions? You saw me die in the future?"

Sam cleared his throat and shifted nervously on the low couch while Dean gave the ID a cursory glance. Dean could feel Sam's sideways glare of death now that Dean had dropped the ball in his lap, but Dean ignored him. He'd given the Fed-deflection a shot; it was Sammy's turn.

"Essentially," Sam said. "Yes."

Sam was working that soft, self-effacing smile that drove Dean batshit crazy but apparently convinced the rest of the world that his little brother was as harmless as a puppy dog and absolutely trustworthy. Dean tossed the wallet onto the coffee table and slouched back on the couch, offering up his best 'trust me' face, too.

Mulder's shapely red-headed partner wasn't buying it. She narrowed her eyes at them. "So you broke into Mulder's apartment tonight to, what, save him?"

"That's right," Sam said, looking up through his lashes at her with wide, sincere eyes.

It had the opposite effect from usual, and the suspicion on her face only deepened.

Agent Mulder, on the other hand, acted like he'd found the Hope Diamond in his Lucky Charms. He leaned forward in his chair, grilling Sam about the origins of his visions (Sam left out everything that had to do with the demon, which was...well, everything, and stuck with "I really don't know"), their clarity, how much control he had, and so on. Dean wondered if Mulder was some kind of a new age freak or if he was just unusually open-minded.

He figured they'd find out when Sam got to the part about the succubus.

"Have you ever met a man named Clyde Bruckman?" Mulder asked suddenly.

Sam squinched his forehead, thrown, and glanced at Dean. Dean shrugged and shook his head.

"No, sorry," Sam said. "Why?"

Mulder considered him intently for a moment. There was no way to tell what he was thinking; if he wasn't looking vaguely amused he was in full-on duh-face, and neither expression gave much away. The guy must make a killing at poker.

"So, this vision you had about me dying." Mulder paused. He glanced at Scully, whose gaze twitched briefly from skeptical to amused. Mulder continued, drily, "This vision didn't, by any chance, involve autoerotic asphyxiation, did it?"

Dean choked on air. Sam paled and quietly started to freak out.

"Actually." Sam cleared his throat weakly. "Technically. Yes?"

Other than the fact that his eyes went a little glassy and his ears turned pink, Mulder's lack of expression held pretty well.

Dean decided he had clearly misread these particular Feds.

"I'd love to know why you'd jump to that conclusion, Agent Mulder," he said, grunting only a little when Sam kicked him.

Agent Scully burst out with a sharp laugh, but it was clear she wasn't amused any more. "Mulder," she said. "I think we've let these people waste enough of our time."

Dean noticed that she'd edged forward a bit. She didn't so much put herself between her partner and Dean and Sam, as forecast bloody death with the forward slide of a tiny, slim foot.

It was kind of hot.

He dredged up every speck of sincerity he could find, because he knew she'd hear a leer from a mile away, and as much as he'd have loved to go there, this actually was serious. "It's not like that," he said.

"No," Sam said. "Not at all. Trust me. It's not like I - I just wasn't sure how to -" He flushed and scrubbed his hand self-consciously over his head. "Have you ever heard of a succubus?"

Scully's fisheye didn't waver, but Mulder brightened.

"A succubus. A succubus?" He slumped visibly in relief, and Dean heard him mumble, "Oh, thank god."

"Are you saying you saw my partner -" Scully paused meaningfully. "- _saw_ my partner get...sexed to death? In a _vision_."

The way she said 'vision' suggested many things, starting with 'sicko stalker fantasy' and going downhill from there. Sam just stared at her, his flush deepening exponentially as her eyebrows slowly raised.

Yeah. Scully was really, _really_ hot.

Sam finally cracked. He turned to Dean. "I'll let you have the shower first every morning for the next two weeks if you handle this."

"Make it a month."

"Deal."

Sam covered his face with his hands and attempted to make his gigantic self disappear into the couch, and Dean turned to face the Feds. Scully gave him a look that promised she could make him and Sam vanish without a trace if their explanation wasn't convincing enough, and Dean wondered how hard she would kick his ass if he told her she was sexy when she glared.

Dean shook off the thought with some effort, and forced himself to focus on the job.

"So," he said, but, honest to god, he couldn't help himself. He looked from Mulder to Scully and back again, and grinned. "Autoerotic asphyxiation, huh?"

*

**Author's Note:**

> **Clyde Bruckman:** You know, there are worse ways to go, but I can't think of a more undignified one than autoerotic asphyxiation.   
> **Mulder:** Why are you telling me that?  
> \- "Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose," _X-Files_, 1993


End file.
